


no request is too extreme

by AugustaByron



Series: wish series [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Be Careful What Your Alternate Self Wishes For, Dimension Travel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 22:49:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14388738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustaByron/pseuds/AugustaByron
Summary: Kent Parson wakes up in a universe where he never dropped out of the draft, where he's the captain of the Las Vegas Aces, and where he's got  a demon for a cat.This sucks. Kent demands a redo.





	no request is too extreme

**Author's Note:**

> So, here is the companion piece to what you wish (I really wanna know) detailing the adventures of an alternate universe Kent Parson in the canon universe. Featuring the Las Vegas Aces, Kit Purrson, and Jack Zimmermann mostly in absentia. 
> 
> Lyrics from "When You Wish Upon a Star" from Disney's Pinocchio. 
> 
> Check, Please belongs to Ngozi Ukazu.

There is a hellish blaring noise.

Kent flails until his hand lands on a phone. He stabs at the screen blindly until the noise, thank god, goes away. He groans and buries his head back into the pillow.

That is when the cat lands on his head.

 

Once he has freed himself from what seems to be a small cougar, Kent actually gets a chance to look at his surroundings. He’s never been here before. It’s a bedroom that is, okay, blindingly white and modern. It looks like something out of one of the design magazines that Alicia loves.

“What the fuck,” Kent asks the empty, polished room. The only color is some kind of abstract painting on the wall, something black and red and, frankly, appalling. The only place Kent ever wakes up, other than home, is Guy’s place. And this isn’t Guy’s house. Guy only decorates with antlers and Gone Fishing signs. Where the hell is he?

The phone rings again. Kent grabs for it, hoping for some kind of clue as to what the fuck is happening.

“Hello?”

“Hey, man, it’s John Johnson,” says the dude on the other end.

“Jack’s old goalie?” Kent frowns. This guy is weird, has always been super weird. “What’s going on, is this your house?”

“Ha, no, bro. It’s--listen, you’re in an alternate universe where you never dropped out of the draft,” Johnson says. “I had to have you trade places with this universe’s Parson so he could learn a lesson. I mean, you’ve got some stuff to learn, too, but you weren’t the impetus.”

“What the fuck, did Guy put you up to this? Did Shitty?” This is exactly Shitty’s sense of humor. Kent is going to kill him. He’s going to drive to Boston and kill him.

“No, man, it’s a plot device, a McGuffin,” Johnson says, like that makes any sense. “Anyway, you’re gonna want to investigate and grow, so I’ll let you get to it.”

“Johnson! Johnson, you motherfucker, don’t do this--”

Too late. He must have already hung up. Kent stares down at the phone.

The miniature tiger pokes its head up over the bed and meows at him irritably. The phone in Kent’s hand buzzes with a text.

 _You’ll want to feed Kit Purrson soon_ , an unknown number says.

“Kit Purrson,” Kent says, disbelievingly. The cat meows at him again, like a response. “He named his cat after himself?”

Jesus. Alternate universe Kent is a douchebag.

 

The phone has fingerprint unlock, thank god. Kent calls Jack--and gets nothing. The number doesn’t even exist. Okay, so that plan is a bust. He opens a weather app, just to get a bead on where the fuck he is, at least--

Las Vegas. Kent stares down at the phone.

“This isn’t actually an alternate universe,” he says to it. “Johnson’s a spooky motherfucker, not a wizard.”

The Aces had the number one pick, the year Kent and Jack didn’t get drafted. Also, Christ, Vegas is hot as hell.

Kit Purrson makes a noise like a small, angry truck engine. Kent figures he should probably feed her.

A quick search through the cupboards reveals a ton of prepackaged foods, a set of copper pots and pans that look like they’ve never been used, and the most bougie cat food Kent has ever seen in his life. He pours some into--fuck, is that bowl made of crystal?

The cat settles in to eat, and Kent dares to type his own name into Google.

Kent Parson drafted first to the Las Vegas Aces. Kent Parson wins the Calder. Kent Parson on the cover of _Dudes’ Health_ magazine. Captain Kent Parson of the Las Vegas Aces--he stares in shock--wins _second Stanley Cup_.

“Fuck me.” Two Stanley Cups. Two Stanley fucking Cups. And he’s the captain? What the hell? “I have two Stanley Cups and I live alone with a monster cat.”

Where’s Jack?

It’s a much worse search--top prospect drops out of draft. Jack Zimmermann gets to the Frozen Four with Samwell University. Jack Zimmermann signs with Providence Falconers as a free agent.

Kent doesn’t even realize he’s been holding his breath until it all comes rushing out, a gasp of pure relief--Jack’s fine. He’s okay. He just has a different number or something.

“Call Jack,” Kent tells his phone. Jack is going to know what to do. He always does.

“Sorry, I don’t have a number for Jack,” Siri tells him. Kent frowns.

“Call Zimms?” he asks. Siri still doesn’t have a number.

He opens his contacts and looks through his favorites--maybe this Kent is the kind of asshole who gives people cutesy names in his phone.

Jeff. Toad. Coach. _Karlyn and Mom?_

“I still talk to my mom?” Kent asks, blankly. The cat jumps into his lap and rubs her face on his chest. This Kent--talks to his mom. And to his baby sister.

No time to think about that.

He scrolls frantically through Other Parson’s contacts, looking for a name he recognizes. Anything. And there--

At least he’s friends with Tater.

“Hello?” the voice that answers is a woman, and Kent is still confused. Is this Tater married or something?

“Is Tater there? Alexei?”

“You’ve got the wrong number,” the lady says. Kent swallows down the disappointment, apologizes, hangs up.

Well. He’s back to square one.

 

It’s not hard to Google some shit, which is how Kent finds out that this universe’s Parson is best friends with that goon Jeff Troy. They’ve got about a hundred pictures on Instagram together, some kind of pseudo-flirty Twitter war going on, and a couple of interviews that are, honestly, about as gay as Kent and Jack on a good day.

Time to nut up, Kent decides. He calls the number for Jeff.

Troy answers on the first ring. “What’s up, Parser?”

“Don’t hang up,” Kent warns him. “This is going to sound crazy.”

Troy groans. “God, okay, what did Purrson do this time?”

“I’m from an alternate universe and I’ve replaced your Kent Parson,” Kent says, all in a rush, heart beating frantically.

“I’ll be right over.”

 

“Yeah, I told you to stop doing shots with the wizard.” Troy is weirdly cheerful for someone whose maybe-boyfriend is in another dimension. “What position do you play? We’ve got a game tomorrow.”

“Left wing,” Kent says, startled. “Can you--drive me to the arena?”

“Sure thing. Hey, I should call Toad, his sister is a Wiccan,” Troy says. “So he’s probably our resident expert in magic.”

Toad, who Kent thinks maybe slashed him during a game once, shows up in about three minutes. “I live downstairs, you didn’t call me first? And Amanda’s not a witch, douchebag, she’s just a park ranger.”

“She talks about trees all the time,” Troy protests. “She once told me they’ve got feelings. And she wears all that turquoise.” That is apparently a step too far, because Toad launches himself at Troy with a wild cry. Kent rubs his temples.

“Hey, guys,” Kent says, over their arguing. The guys quit punching each other in the stomach, look up at him curiously. “Johnson said I’ve got a lesson to learn, so maybe tell me a little about your Parson.”

“Uh,” Toad says, releasing Troy from a headlock, “he’s an idiot?”

Troy glares at Toad and adds, “But he’s our idiot. I don’t know, he’s a good captain. I’ll kill you if you ever told him I said that.”

“He is literally in another universe,” Kent says. “So I don’t--I don’t know how I would tell him anything. I just want to make sure he’s not going to fuck up my team or my relationship, okay? I’m worried about Jack.”

Toad and Troy exchange a look.

“Zimmermann,” Troy says darkly.

“Of course it’s Zimmermann,” Toad growls.

“What the hell is your problem with Jack?” Kent demands, unsettled. “What, are we fighting or something?” Kent can't imagine his counterpart loved having Jack sign with a different team, but there’s got to be a plan, right?

Troy snorts. “Uh, the guy wrecked you? Parse. Our Parse.”

“And he hasn't lifted the ban on Aces getting the magic jam,” Toad adds, which, okay, they’ll come back to that one.

“What do you mean, Jack wrecked me?” Kent asks, since that’s clearly the important part.

Troy and Toad exchange another one of those looks. “Make yourself comfortable, Other Parse. It’s kind of a long story.”

 

Okay, so this universe’s Kent is some kind of hot mess who has giant blow-up fights with Jack Zimmermann every two years, and other than that gets drunk a lot and does a lot of charity work. He’s also apparently bros with Britney Spears. That’s the only part Kent is okay with.

“He’s supposed to learn a lesson,” Kent tells Troy and Toad. “Johnson told me.”

Kent’s honestly not sure what kind of lesson there is to learn, here. Become a functional adult? Stop fucking randoms in clubs, since according to Troy that’s the closest this Parson has ever gotten to having a boyfriend?

“Shit, I didn’t out him to you, did I?” Kent realizes, probably too late.

“Uh,” Toad says, scratching at the back of his neck uncomfortably. “It’s kind of an open secret?”

“Not to a lot of the team,” Troy adds. “But there’s a couple of us, yeah. We know. We don’t, like _know_ know, but we know.”

“Have you ever told Parson that you _know_ know?” Kent asks. Jesus, these guys are idiots. Give him Tater’s stupid crush on Bitty any day of the week over this.

“Uh,” Toad says again. “No?”

God. Kent’s getting a headache. “Okay, dude, maybe think about doing that. So he doesn’t need to get sent to an alternate fucking dimension to discover shit about himself next time.”

“Yeah, man, totally,” Troy blatantly lies. “So, what about you? What’s it like in your world?”

“Who plays Iron Man in the movies?” Toad demands. “Do people live on Mars?”

“How about one of you drives me to the rink?” Kent suggests. “Don’t we have hockey to play?” 

 

There are giant banners of Kent smirking all over the arena. It is--truly obnoxious. He looks like a vampire in black.

It’s also super weird. The Falcs put him and Jack on advertisements, sometimes, and they’re at the front of the Dunkin’ Donuts Center, but--Tater’s the face of the franchise. Jack’s getting to be up there with him, but Kent mostly gets to make dumb jokes in Falconer Face-off videos and pretty, pretty assists on the ice. 

It’s not, like, unknown to be playing without Jack. Kent did four years with the Bulldogs. He was the captain the last two years. And he did two years on the Falcs before Zimms got there. But it is weird. He keeps expecting someone there to get the puck, and there’s nobody.

“Where’s your head at, Parse?” Coach bellows, the third time that Kent flubs an easy pass. “Get it together.”

“Sorry, sir,” Kent says, because he knows how to react to getting yelled at. Clearly, he needs a different approach.

He goes it alone, accepts passes when they come his way, breaks off and skates around the D towards the goal. It’s harder than he expected. These Aces are way better at hockey than in Kent’s world. But--

“That’s more like it,” Coach says, the third time that Kent showboats his way across the rink, dekes around Toad, slams it gloveside past the goalie. So this Parson does shit like that all the time, he guesses.

It sucks. God, it must suck so much, to have to do that all the time. After practice, Kent’s fucking wiped, just wants to shower and go back to Other Parson’s weird white apartment to crash out.

“Hey, dude,” Troy says in an undertone, when Kent’s getting dressed. They’ve got side-by-side stalls, to further compliment their bromance. “How’re you holding up?”

“I’m super,” Kent says. His phone starts ringing, and he goes to answer it automatically. Then he sees who’s calling.

Kent stares at his phone, frozen. Troy pops over his shoulder to snoop.

“Dude, pick up, Liza’ll be pissed if you send her to voicemail,” so apparently Jeff Troy is on first-name terms with Kent’s mom. His _mom_. God.

“I don’t, um,” Kent says, and the missed call notification pops up. He breathes out.

“Okay, Parser, what’s the matter?” Troy asks. “Is Liza dead in your world or something?”

“No, dude, fuck off,” Kent says. “We just, uh. We don’t talk anymore. Since I, you know. Dropped out of the draft with Jack.”

“What? That’s--Parser talks to his mom like, every day.” Troy is frowning. “Liza’s cool, she definitely knows he’s gay or whatever.”

And that’s--Kent can’t help laughing a little. It sounds all shaky and bullshit, fuck. He wants Jack. He wants to see him, bury his face in Jack’s chest.

“Well, she didn’t take too kindly to me giving up a professional hockey career for my junkie boyfriend after she worked two jobs to pay for my equipment and team fees,” Kent says. “So it’s fun to know that she probably would have hated it just as much if it had been a junkie girlfriend. What a load off my mind.”

Troy visibly hesitates, but he asks, “What about Karls?”

Kent blinks, rapidly, breathes a little deeper. “I don’t, um. She’s okay, though?” It’s a different universe, but they’re similar enough, right? Karlyn’s probably about the same here and at home.

“Yeah, man, she’s great. She’s going to college next year, she went to States for debate.” Troy’s voice is really gentle, like Kent needs to be handled, or something. Shit. This is--

“How about,” Kent suggests, “we go get drunk.” 

“Yes,” Troy agrees, clearly relieved. “Yes, let’s go do that.”

 

Kent isn’t actually going to get drunk, since there’s a game tomorrow. He isn’t an idiot. But he lets Troy and Toad take him to some bar that Other Parson loves. It’s less awful than Kent expected, pretty chill, not on the Strip or anything. They also bring over burgers without anyone having to order, so clearly the Aces hang out here a lot. 

“So what do you do for fun, Parse?” Toad asks while they’re eating lunch.

“Well, Jack’s really into wildlife photography right now, so we go on a lot of walks in the state park so he can commune with the birds,” Kent says.

“But like, what are you into?” Troy asks.

“Uh, our friend Bittle’s been coming over a lot lately to try and teach us how to cook.” Kent is pretty sure that’s because Tater will inevitably show up on those weekends and hang out, but he’s trying not to blow that secret in case Tater’s bi in this universe, too.

The Aces exchange a look. “But what about you? Like, without Zimmermann?”

Without Jack? That’s kind of the point of being in a relationship, Kent doesn’t have to do shit without Jack. He doesn't have to be alone, the way this universe's Parson is, with his ass hanging in the wind, nobody to watch his back but a psycho cat. 

“I do some outreach with this program for kids struggling with drug addiction,” Kent says. “Helps put my psych degree to use, I guess.”

Troy scowls. “That’s a Zimmermann thing, too.”

What? No it’s not.

“Well, what does your Parson do?” Kent demands.

Troy ticks items off on his fingers like a douchebag. “He spends a ton of time with the rookies, helping them out. He volunteers at the animal shelter. He was really into guitar for a while but not as much anymore.”

“He goes to hold babies at the hospital,” Toad adds. “We’re not supposed to know about that one.”

“He holds meth babies at the hospital, in secret,” Troy repeats, triumphantly. He gives Kent a look like ‘ha, see?’ Fucking douchecanoe.

Also, what the hell? “I thought you said he was an idiot.”

“He is,” Toad says, confused.

“He is an idiot,” Troy confirms. “He just has hobbies and shit. Do you have non-Zimmermann hobbies?”

Kent has a functional adult life and a bachelor’s degree, and there are zero pictures of him on the internet drunk off his ass wearing a feather boa, which is more than he can say for this universe’s Parson. He opens his mouth to tell these goons that.

“I always wanted to learn the guitar,” he says instead. “And like, I want a dog.”

Well, shit. This is unexpected.

 

Kent gets a little more tipsy than he means to, which means that he’s feeling mopey about being alone after Toad deposits him at Other Parson’s apartment. The cat glares at him from on top of some kind of carpeted tower, and refuses to let him pet her. Fine, whatever.

Kent misses Zimms with an urgency that startles him. It’s not like they haven’t spent a night apart recently. Jack goes to stay with Shitty and Lardo sometimes, or Kent crashes at Guy’s after poker night. But he always knows exactly when he’s going to see Jack again. He doesn’t know right now.

Even if he can’t call Jack, Kent realizes, he is not without resources. He pulls out Other Parson’s phone and types in Tater’s number, waits for him to pick up.

“Hello?” Tater sounds a little suspicious when he answers.

“Tater!” Kent has rarely been so glad to hear him. “Hey, dude, what’s up?”

“Who is this?” Tater asks.

“It’s Parse. Kent Parson,” Kent clarifies. He remembers something that one of the guys said this morning, and asks, a few things clicking into place, “Listen, can you get Bittle to lift the ban on selling jam to the Aces?”

“You call me for this?” Tater demands. “Never call me after sex, but call me to ask Jack’s boyfriend for favor?”

 _What_.

 

“Let me get straight,” Tater says, when Kent is done freaking out. “You from other world?”

“Yes.” Jack is dating _Bitty_  What the fuck. Kent fucked _Tater_. This is unacceptable. This is the darkest timeline. “This Kent Parson is in my universe.”

Tater is quiet for a minute. Then, sounding very sincere about it, “You crazy, Parse?”

“No, I’m not fucking crazy,” Kent snaps. “We banged? I mean, you and this Parson?”

“Yes. And you never call,” Tater adds reproachfully.

“It wasn’t me,” Kent hisses. He wants to tear his hair out. “I’ve only ever had sex with Jack. He’s dating Eric Bittle? _You’ve_ got a thing for Eric Bittle.”

“Little B?” Now Tater’s the one who sounds freaked out. “No way, is Jack’s boyfriend. Sure you’re not crazy?”

“Pretty sure, man.” Less sure by the minute. “There was a wizard involved.”

Tater makes a thoughtful sound. “Think game carries over? We play Aces next week, good to know Kent Parson off his game.”

Christ. Kent is surrounded.

 

It’s best to keep his head down. Kent follows his usual game day routine, which is hampered by the fact that Kit Purrson has decided she wants him dead. When he gets to the arena, he focuses on his gear until Troy nudges him.

“You’ve got to do the captain thing,” he mutters out of the side of his mouth. “We put our hands in and say ‘royal flush’ before we go out.”

“What the fuck, that’s so dumb.” Kent is amazed. He stands up and whistles, tries not to be shocked when the entire locker room snaps to attention. “Okay, boys. It’s the Aeros. We could do this in our sleep, but why not make them go home crying?”

“Great job,” Troy says later, on the bench. Kent is wired, ready to go it alone, the way he just played a shift feeling like his back was open, exposed. It was a lot. But he can do it. He can. He’s going to win this fucking hockey game. “That was even better than Parse’s normal speeches.”

“What the hell is wrong with this place?” Kent asks, and then it’s his turn to go over the boards again, and he forgets about how insane the Aces are.

He’s got hockey to play.

 

Kent wakes up in the middle of the night when Purrson attacks his stomach. Feeling inspired, he writes Other Parson a note.

Then he goes to sleep in the guest room, without the cat.

 

Kent wakes up in the sunshine. He doesn’t open his eyes for a minute. He’s so fucking tired. He wants to go home. Even decimating the Aeros didn’t help, even though Kent got a hat trick. He’s a lot faster than he knew he was.

“I know you’re awake, babe, you’re not getting out of brunch that easy,” Zimms says.

“I could be asleep,” Kent argues. How does Jack always know? What a freak. Then he realizes, and opens his eyes.

It’s Jack, his Jack, in their bed, smiling at him, the smile he only gives to Kent. He's back, he's back, he's  _back_. Kent reaches out, and Jack meets him halfway, kisses him sweet even though they’ve both got gross morning breath.

“Hey,” Kent breathes. Jack, Jack, Jack. God, Kent worked so hard to have this, and it’s his. He earned this life. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” Zimms says, like he always does. “You still have to get up, though.”

“I think I’m gonna call my mom,” Kent says. Jack’s eyebrows go up, but he leans in again, kisses Kent, easy, the way he’ll do for the rest of their lives.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Jack says.

“And I want a dog,” Kent adds.

“Maybe a cat?” Jack suggests. “We’re gone a lot, a dog is a lot.”

Nope. No way, Kent has seen what happens when he gets a cat.

“We’ll get a pet sitter,” Kent says. “I want a dog.”

Zimms laughs. “Okay. Whatever you want.”

Kent’s got what he wants. He reaches for Jack again, and Jack reaches back.


End file.
